


Faithfully or Sincerely

by crocs



Series: Not Just Snail Mail [1]
Category: Cloak & Dagger (TV 2018)
Genre: 6+1 Things, Gen, Post-Episode: s01e10 Colony Collapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 18:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crocs/pseuds/crocs
Summary: (Spoilers for Season 1 Finale.)Six letters that Tyrone wrote whilst living in the church, and one that he actually sent.





	Faithfully or Sincerely

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

**ONE:**

_Written on ruled and lined A4-size paper, using a running-out biro, replaced halfway by a sharp pencil:_

Dear Mom,

Before I say anything else — I'm fine and well. In fact, I'm better than that. It's kind of unbelievable what's happened in the last few weeks. I know I’m better for doing it, though.

I miss you and Dad a lot. I miss Evita, and Chantelle, and the Wild Red Hawks. I miss Billy, but that's not new. I have to stay away, though. I don't want you guys to be mixed up in this.

We haven't really talked that much in the past month, but I need that to change. It's kind of lonely here. Don't worry, they haven't caught me — I'm staying in an old church for the time being. It's got pretty good reviews from a friend of mine.

The reason why I've been tense these few weeks is that I'm kind of different. And I know you've been saying that my whole life — that I'm special — and I appreciate that, but now? It's true. I am special.

Tell Dad that I miss him and I love him. Or tell him you haven't heard from me. That option's probably for the best.

I love you, Mom.

Stay safe.

Yours sincerely,

_Tyrone_

* * *

 

**TWO:**

_Written on crumpled up and straightened out newspaper, in the margins, using a blunt pencil:_

Dear Chantelle,

There are quite a few things on my mind right now. The first one is _'what the hell?'._

I can understand the need to keep the 'Divine Pairing' secret — I've been keeping a big secret for the last few weeks — but you probably should have still told me. I was dating Evita, for God’s sake. Am. It's complicated.

That one will die, one will live thing? Bullshit. My friend and I are just fine. In actuality, the fact that you told Evita to tell us about it at the eleventh hour is probably what saved us.

Now that I've got that one off my chest, I need to ask you something. Exactly how many Divine Pairings have there been? Do you know? I'm sort of feeling this insane weight on my shoulders right now and I'm wondering if it's justified.

Tell Evita — no, it doesn't matter. I'll tell her myself when I can.

Yours sincerely,

_Tyrone_

* * *

 

**THREE:**

_Written on card stock, folded up carefully and flattened by time spent burning a hole in a jacket pocket, lettered using a blue pen:_

Dear Billy,

I don't know why I'm writing this letter, seeing as though there's no chance of you reading it — unless you're reading it over my shoulder as I write. I hope that you're okay wherever you are.

If you recognise the hoodie I'm wearing, it’s because it’s yours. Your old one, actually. No, I didn’t keep it all these years; my friend Tandy actually stole it off me when we washed up on the shore after the accident. You'd like her. She's got enough street smarts to join your old gang.

Probably more than.

Connors — the guy that killed you — is dead. They found his body near the place where he murdered you. I wish I could say who did it but I don't know for sure. Not yet.

The cloak you were making with the Wild Red Hawks for Mardi Gras? I finished it. It looked really nice. It kinda sorta got torn to shreds when I was escaping a police station. I did have a reason to escape, by the way. Framed for murder of a police officer. Still wanted for that, by the way.

I'm currently living in an old church in downtown. It's not got air con, central heating and all that shit but it's okay. I actually told the pastor at my school that God might not exist the other day so I kind of feel a bit weird about being here, but never mind.

If you've been watching over my shoulder, like Mom and Dad say you've been doing all these years, you'll know that I have powers now. I'm trying to use them like you'd use them. For good.

I don't know if I’ve succeeded yet.

Yours sincerely,

_Ty_

* * *

 

**FOUR:**

_Written on the back of an outdated Thai take-out menu, using a green pen found under a pew, later screwed up into a ball and thrown out of a church window in the middle of the night:_

Dear Tandy's mom,

I'm sorry, but I don't know your actual name. I could have always asked Tandy but I think it would have been a little bit weird.

We don't really know each other that well, but I'm that kid that lost his brother on the same day Tandy lost her dad. We lifted up a lantern together.

The long and the short of it is this: Tandy and I can see the hopes (her) and fears (me) when we touch people. When we touch the same person together… let's just say that when we all held hands on the anniversary, Tandy and I saw something.

We were in a cinema — black and white style, like those old movies that just had music playing in the background — and as we walked through, we saw what was playing. It looked like a home movie; a film of you and your late husband having breakfast together. You were sat in the audience alone. Happy, y'know?

Tandy ripped open the screen with one of her daggers and we, um, saw what really was behind that film. We walked behind, and —

— And I know it's not any of my business, but I think you and Tandy should probably talk about what her dad was really like. Or what you had fears of him being like. You guys have been getting along really well lately. I think. Tandy's not exactly the sharing type. She hasn't exactly got a heart of ice; I'd actually say it's more like bubble wrap — _'handle with care'_. She's been burnt enough. I don't think you guys need to lie to make each other happy anymore.

Tandy came over last week. You two had cooked some pasta together or something and had leftovers. I know you know about her bringing me the leftovers. Tandy's real good at taking care of people.

Unfortunately, she's also real good at taking people apart.

Yours sincerely,

_Tyrone Johnson_

* * *

 

**FIVE:**

_Typed out quickly in the Notes section of a mobile phone, having never made it to paper:_

Dear Mr. Hess,

How are you feeling? I know it was kind of weird for you to wake up like that, with me and Tandy holding your arms, but trust me — it was way weirder for us.

I don't know yet if you remember what happened during your coma, so I'll break it down from my perspective: You were stuck in some sort of dream-fake-memory on the rig that kept on repeating. Things you called Terrors began to roam the halls and you'd reverted into this guy that had forgotten everything after being in a loop for too long.

Then we came into your memory and tried to save the rig from the explosion. We managed to do it too. And then you woke up.

As for why I'm bringing this up now? The Terrors actually happened in real life. Long story short — Mina, your daughter, worked with ROXXON to place tiny energy extractors all over New Orleans, they overheated, a lot of people went mad with fear and became Terrors and Tandy and I nearly died trying to shut the main one off.

I wanted to write to you to thank you. Without you deciding to help us in shutting the dream rig off, we wouldn't have known what to do in order to save New Orleans. We'd both be dead. And I'm really glad we're alive.

Thank you.

Yours sincerely,

_Tyrone Johnson_

* * *

 

**SIX:**

_Written on a ripped out page of the church's wedding register in fading green pen:_

Dear O'Reilly,

I went to your funeral today.

(Don't worry — I teleported out at the first sign of trouble.)

The officers there said you died a hero trying to save New Orleans. I have to agree with them.

You were the first cop that believed in me. In Billy, in Tandy. I'm really going to miss you. You were my friend. You were.

I can't express how I feel in writing that well, but I just want you to know — I hope you're happy, and with Fuchs, and that he's okay too. I’d like to believe you've met Billy too. Don't —

_[several words blurred by tear stains]_

— because it's false.

Thank you for going against Connors, and for being a shoulder, and for protecting me. For protecting all of New Orleans. It's going to miss a good cop like you.

I certainly am.

Yours sincerely,

_Tyrone_

* * *

 

**PLUS ONE:**

_Written in block printed black pen, on expensive paper courtesy of Tandy Bowen. Sent in a reused envelope with the original recipient scribbled out. Currently framed in the back of Pop's, located in New York City:_

Dear Mr. Cage,

My name is Cloak. I used to be an honor roll student in New Orleans, but stuff happened and now I'm not. I'm homeless and the cops are after me for something I didn't do. I know that sounds like something you probably hear all the time but I needed to talk to someone about it.

They think I killed a cop — Officer Fuchs — in cold blood. Stuffed him into some fridge at a friend's house. His girlfriend, Detective O'Reilly. I didn't — I was with someone else at the time. But you know what the cops say about alibis…

Anyway, I wanted to ask you how you were able to be a hero like you are and be on the run at the same time. We actually studied your case in Ethics last semester. My friend Evita — she used to be my girlfriend, but then that crashed and burned like hell — recently said that she wanted to write a letter to you now that you've gotten out of prison, so expect a letter from her sometime soon. So, the hero question — how do you do it?

It's hard enough having to look over your shoulder every minute. It's harder only having one or two people that know the truth about you and what you can do — for me, it's Evita and my other friend Dagger. I just can't seem to figure it out.

There's an old saying — _with great power comes great responsibility_. I found it hard to make a difference when there wasn't a bullseye on my back. Now that there is, I'm sorta feeling even more pressure.

You don't have to write back. You don't even have to read this letter all the way through. But I just wanted to say — Mr. Cage, I really think you're doing something right. And even if no-one in New York was behind you, I would still be. I know I would.

And hey, if you're ever in New Orleans, go on the Damballah Voodoo Tour and ask the girl with the name tag that says Evita for Cloak. I know all the shortcuts.

Yours sincerely,

_Cloak_

* * *

 


End file.
